I cringed at the visuals, and so did Joe.
‘Thanks for that, Dad.’ I held out my own Diet Coke for him to clink, which he did.
‘Speaking of Dad naked,’ I murmured to Joe, who pulled a face, ‘any news on the second date? All I got was a thumbs up and a smiley face.’
My brother tipped his head back before gulping his beer (alcohol-free, he hadn’t been kidding about the shift – and sometimes we liked to join Dad in solidarity). ‘I believe they’re going to a wine bar tomorrow night. But that’s all I got. Second date good, third date on the horizon.’
Men. I’d have to quiz my dad when he was done getting his suit altered. The tailor was working on his sleeves now, pinning them slightly higher.
‘What did I tell you? Worked a charm.’ Rory came in, holding a cupcake over his head like a trophy. He offered me a bite, which I accepted. Raspberry buttercream. Delicious.
I spoke through my mouthful. ‘Would it not have been more cost effective to just buy some cake?’
He sent me a weary look. ‘Clearly, you don’t know the first thing about killing two birds with one stone.’ He stuffed the final bite into his mouth. ‘The perfect tuxedo measuring fuel, if you ask me.’
Joe waved him in the direction of his tux, which was laid out on the couch with a little name tag on top of it written in gold script (100 per cent Isla’s influence). ‘Which is why you only brought one in for yourself?’
‘Did you buy roses for Caroline?’
Joe sighed. ‘No.’
He flipped the finger at my brother. ‘Exactly.’
Rory picked up his tux, and I immediately batted him away. ‘Go and wash your hands. I know you, and there is buttercream lurking somewhere.’
He inspected his hands. ‘You clearly don’t know me that well then, do you?’
I pointed to a smudge of pink that he’d missed on his wrist.
‘Ah, fuck off, Webber.’ He made his way out the door, pausing to kiss the top of my head. ‘Thanks. As always.’
I watched him go, shaking my head and losing my battle with a smile. When I turned, Joe was staring at me. ‘What?’
He turned something over in his mind before apparently abandoning it. ‘Nothing. Now get lost, this is a male bonding experience.’
I moved through to the kitchen, leaving the men (plus the weary tailor) in the living room. Mum was hard at work, sat at the kitchen table icing some butter biscuits by hand. It was her new venture; a way of stretching her skills. At this point, she had cake and cookies down to a fine art. You didn’t hone a business for over a decade without getting seriously good. But something she’d been talking about for years was learning how to delicately ice biscuits, like the kind you saw in Biscuiteers. Last Christmas I’d bought her a ticket to a professional decorating class, and Joe and Isla had bought her a starter kit with all the tools she’d need. Now, after a series of shoddier attempts where you couldn’t quite tell if it was supposed to be a sheep or a cloud – or in Joe’s case, if you thought one of her snowmen was a pair of tits – she was on the verge of a breakthrough.
‘Don’t tell me,’ I said, watching her steadily loop the green icing around the outside, ‘is it going to be a monstera leaf?’
She glanced up, her hair piled on top of her head in a leopard print scrunchie. She had a smudge of green icing on her forehead. ‘I must be getting better! These are a batch for a new plant shop in Hackney. They’re having a launch party this week and they’ve ordered two hundred.’
‘Bloody hell, you won’t be able to do anything else!’
She snorted. ‘I’ve got the rest of the team on monstera duty too, don’t you worry.’
‘I didn’t realise you’d progressed to actually selling the biscuits.’ I pinched a tiny offcut; whenever she made a batch, she always baked the bits that didn’t make the final shapes. I popped it into my mouth, the butter base instantly melting on my tongue.
‘I decided it was time. I’m doing a discount for businesses or parties that want to try them out whilst I’m still in the earlier stages. Next week we’re doing a batch of sunflowers for a charity event.’ She stuck her tongue out in concentration as she took a different shade of green, creating the veins of the leaf.
‘So.’ She pounced on me as I sat down, pulling out a chair and staying well away from the icing. ‘How was date two?’
I hadn’t actually discussed my second date with Daniel with anyone. Maeve and Rory weren’t his biggest fans, and everyone at work was still miffed that I’d given up on finding the love of my life through our app.
I picked up one of her icing bags, squeezing a blob onto my finger and licking it. Mum shot me daggers. ‘It wasn’t a date, not really. But …’
I trailed off, thinking about the other night.
‘But …?’ Mum looked up from her biscuits.
‘But it’s good to have a distraction from work.’
And by work, I meant Link. And Rory and Maeve’s affair.
‘Penny, not everything has to be about work.’
I looked pointedly at the mountains of iced biscuits she was working with.
‘Put the kettle on, smartarse.’ She nudged some more offcuts towards me. ‘I’ve been saving these for you.’
I popped another delicious piece of biscuit in my mouth and got up to fill the kettle, pulling out her favourite mug (it had Best Mum written on it, and Joe had bought it after he’d backed her car into the driveway gates two weeks after he’d passed his driving test. Kiss-arse).
‘I’ve been at this for hours. Make it a big one.’
I did as she said, waiting for the kettle to boil and looking into her garden, which was small but organised. I spotted a new gnome – something she’d started collecting when we moved out – this one with deely boppers on its head. I had no idea where she found them.
I pottered around the kitchen, grabbing the milk and putting her mug next to her.
‘Thanks. Do you want to see something I’ve been practising?’ She got up, wiping green icing from her fingers.
